The End
by Dan Way
Summary: After countless lives of relieved history, it is all about to change forever. The eternal life-cycle threatens to close with unyielding finality and Merlin is forced to make choices he is not prepared to make. But first he must remember, and in the meantime, deal with his ever wider and stranger group of friends, and a royal prat he wishes he could murder. No worries...


**Future is Prologue**

He kept running. His legs hurt from the exertion and threatened to buckle underneath his weight with every single step. It was fear far more than determination which kept him going. Exhaustion made it difficult to breathe or even think and he suspected it would not take him long to pass out. The rain had long since stopped but the ground was still wet, making running at a steady rhythm nearly impossible. He could smell it all around him, in the trees, on the muddy ground, in the air – tasting it with every strained gasp.

Death.

He told himself he had to keep moving, tricking himself into believing that just beyond the next mound he would be able to finally stop - that respite was near. Deep down, he knew better. He ventured a glance over his shoulder without breaking stride as branches scraped his skin and drew blood. He could not stop. He would not stop.

There was nothing behind him and yet he could feel it, drawing ever closer, infiltrating everything, including himself, its purpose clear: He had never been meant to be - he was an anomaly - and reality would be rectified. For a strangely disconnected moment, he understood Death's logic and a sliver of acceptance birthed within him. Fate had a plan, and it was quite apparent that he was not part of it. All he had to do was stop moving.

A sudden sharp pain in his foot made his eyes flare open and he fell over a large exposed root. His face connected with the muddy ground below with a thud and he felt the air immediately leave his body. Darkness was inside him in an instant. He desperately turned himself over, begging his lungs to inhale. His eyes grew wider as tears streamed down his face. His legs started convulsing and he barely managed to grip his chest where his heart had stopped beating.

He was dying. Pain spread through him, reaching every nerve in his body. His mouth gaped open with a scream he did not recognise. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as his chest continued to convulse. His limbs stretched out, fingers clawing at the ground and madness threatened to overtake him completely. As suddenly as it had begun, it was over. Silence enveloped him but brought with it no sense of peace.

A hum.

At first he believed it to be a herald of death, a merciless guide to the next stage of existence. The world around him was now beyond his reach and he was thankfully devoid of any feeling. And yet, the hum grew louder. He did not know how he was still capable of coherent thought but swirls of grey slowly transformed before him. With what he could only image to be his mind's eye, he saw it. It was strange, terrible and beautiful at the same time. A pale slender finger drew circles around the edge of the most magnificent chalice he had ever seen. Strangely, he thought he could recognise it - like a figment from a previous life. Faster and faster the pale finger drew the circle around the edge of the cup and, as it picked up speed, the hum grew even louder.

Perspective changed and he looked at the inside of the golden cup. In his mind, he could have sworn he felt his heart beat for the first time. The cup was filled to the brim with dark, velvet like swirling blood. Like a miniature hypnotic whirlpool with a promise of death. He longed for it. It was almost irresistible.

Images played themselves out. At first he was merely an observer. Flashes of steel smashing against steel, war raging in front of him as man killed man, clamouring names of people he did not know and yet recognised. Horses fell to the ground and twisted in agony. Fire cut through the sky as shadows moved about the crowds of fighting soldiers. In what seemed to be almost no time at all, they were all dead. He saw himself look up at the dark sky. Clouds thundered and lighting struck the ground with unnatural persistence. A dark curly haired man with pale blue eyes cold as death approached him slowly through the sea of bodies. The man wore chain-mail and bore a sword and walked with resigned purpose. He saw himself too hold a sword with his right hand as his left stretched out in front of him towards the dark haired man.

And he was there. No longer the observer he felt his fingers curl around the sword handle, he felt the magic coursing through his body. He saw the dark man's eyes register surprise but quickly fall back to their stoic determination. To the left he could hear desperate cries of someone mourning the lost. He would take care of them later. The man stopped a few feet in front of him, letting his sword fall from his grasp. His eyes closed only briefly and he opened his mouth to speak.

But he knew how dangerous that could be. Angry red fire crackled from his finger tips, burned inside his palm and flared towards the man, enveloping him almost immediately.

There was no scream, only the strong, calm voice of complete certainty. "I will remember." And the man burned to cinders.

He could no longer hear the cries and the sound of running footsteps alerted him to his final target. He spun around to face his opponent. A flash of steel blurred his vision and at that exact moment, the finger's movement on the cup halted, the whirlpool ceased and the hum, almost thunderous, became faint. The world disappeared once again, the grey swirls returning once more. Feeling started to slowly creep its way back to his body, and somewhere in the deepest recesses of his mind a voice screamed - wake up.

His eyes opened and he immediately saw Death above him, ready for its claim.

To his left he felt his finger brush against something cool, hard and wet. He knew what it would be. As the darkness finally descended upon him, he gathered all of his strength for one last gamble. His fingers curled around the cup and he brought it in front of him as a shield. The darkness hesitated. The cup seemed impossibly heavy and he feared he would drop it. As he grabbed it with his other hand he propped himself up against the trunk of the heavy tree, increasing the distance between himself and his immortal foe.

There was blood inside the cup. The velvet quality was almost intoxicating and in it, he saw reflections of its owner. Flashes of blue and gold filled his mind, images of life and battle, victory and failure, love and betrayal.

Death sensed his dilemma and knew it was over. It rushed against him. In one final move, he mustered all of his strength and holding the cup steady with his left hand, he freed up his right and brought it down hard against the ground hoping for a deep cut. Pain flared through his arm. As the darkness enveloped him, he felt himself growing dangerously numb. He brought his wrist over the cup, one, two, three drops of blood falling into the velvety mix. And, as if it had been centuries since he had last thought of doing it, he finally spoke.

"A life for a life."

Lighting cut through the sky and struck him with vengeance. The cup grew hot in his hand as he desperately tried to not lose his grip. Just as he thought he would no longer be able to stand it, it vanished completely. He was petrified then, believing his last chance had utterly failed.

Air invaded his lungs - fresh air. He looked up in surprise and found an increasingly clearer sky and the first rays of sunlight streaming through the canopy above him.

His breathing grew steadier as his eyes roamed the area for any signs of darkness. He could hear birds, the sound of water running in a stream nearby and the wind whooshing through the leaves. Sounds that should have been familiar felt strangely alien at that moment but he welcomed them anyway. He realised he did not know where he was or even when. As if waking from a dream, the last few shreds of memory erased themselves from his mind. He knew he should try harder to keep them but at that moment he did not care.

He slumped against the tree and let his body grow heavier, willing himself to relax. There would come a time for thought and planning, there would come a time for destiny. Right then, he needed blissful, hopefully dreamless, slumber.

* * *

He opened his eyes and rubbed his forearm annoyed. "What?!"

"It's our stop."

He looked out of the window at the platform as the train came to a halt. A smile played at his lips as excitement took over. He grabbed his backpack and with a bit of effort lifted his suitcase off the seat next to him. He rushed through the train and briskly positioned himself in front of the still closed doors waiting impatiently as people started to gather behind him.

As the doors started to open he squeezed his way through and all but trampled an awkwardly looking business man in the process.

"Come on." He yelled over the bustling sounds of the platform. Behind him, a lithe, dark haired girl jostled through the indelicate mass of people.

"Can you wait a second!" She yelled back, throwing an annoyed look at a particularly unhelpful can-wearing teen in front of her. He saw her make her way around him and finally free herself of the incoming wave of rush hour passengers. She started nervously scanning the area around her, trying to spot him.

"Yo, Freya!"

He saw her look up and see him, already on the escalator, grinning at her. He amusingly noticed her mumbling something incoherent and, with a firm grip on her luggage, make her way to the escalator. She struggled carrying a comically large backpack on her back and holding a heavy looking suitcase in each hand. Several people turned to stare at the sight. As she got on the stairs, he started walking down in the opposite direction, allowing her time to catch up. When she finally did, one swift swap of her hand to the back of his head was enough to make his grin instantly disappear, but only for a moment.

"Oh! Watch the hair, Sis."

"It's already a mess." She said as she stepped off the escalator. "I'm actually hoping messy was what you were going for."

"Ha!" He exclaims triumphantly. "Shows how much you know."

Freya looked incredulously at him for a brief moment as they approached the cab rank where dozens of people stood waiting. "No, what it shows- argh" She groaned barely managing to drag her cases along. "- is how deluded you are that you think that-" She said, nodding towards his hair. "-Looks presentable. And you could help out, by the way!" She finished exasperatedly.

"Why bring so much stuff then? Anyway, we're here- Oh man, this is gonna take freakin' forever." He complained as he dropped his suitcase behind an ample looking woman wearing a bright orange cardigan. The case landed too close to her feet and she yelped in surprise.

"Ups. Sorry." He said instinctively as the woman looked at him clearly annoyed. He turned to look at Freya who was already shaking her head. He shrugged his shoulders helplessly, his lips curving slightly. "Anyway, you just don't get what I'm going for." He explained running his fingers through his medium length jet black hair. For a moment he looked pensive, his blue eyes roaming aimlessly as he searched for the right word.

Freya rolled her eyes.

"No, seriously... Er, organised chaos... No, that- pretend negligée! That's it."

"Oh my god. Yes. I can see it now." She agreed excitedly. "Yes, that's what it is."

He beamed at her contentedly, and turned back to the unmoving line of people to catch the orange woman still looking at him. He smiled uncomfortably at her.

"Er... nice cardigan."

The woman scowled even further.

"OK..." He slowly turned back to Freya who was busy with her phone. He stared at her for a few moments before fishing his own mobile out of his pocket. No messages he noticed disappointedly. He started thinking about what a common occurrence that was when it hit him. "So, that was sarcasm before, yeah?"

Freya continued to furiously type on her screen even as she turned towards him. "You're a genius."

He shook his head but couldn't help but smile. "Evil."

She smiled back at him.

The cab ride was uneventful and surprisingly quick. Appreciating the thought of a quick shower and an early night, he handed the cabby a few bills and they both stepped out of the car.

In front of them stood a remarkable building. Old was what the first thought that occurred to him. It was certainly that, the surface marred by history and centuries of war. Evenly spaced columns marked the façade and the overall Gothic architecture was made darker by the presence of countless gargoyles on top of the towers and the deep black colour of the stone. He let out a whistle.

"I know right." Freya said, understanding the sentiment.

"Well, I guess we couldn't avoid Uni forever now could- ough!" He was cut mid-sentence and tackled to the ground. Something lay heavily on him and he could feel hot breath against his ear.

"Ouch! Shouldn't you watch where you stand?" the voice on top of him asked indignantly.

For a moment he was speechless.

"Er, to be fair you crashed into him." Freya tentatively explained as the man pulled himself up. She gave him a hand to help him steady himself.

"Don't help the idiot! Who the hell blames the stationary object?" Anger dripping from his voice, he rolled around and proceeded to get up off the pavement and dust himself off when he locked eyes with the bumbling buffoon. He realised the man was speaking, he could see his lips moving, arms flailing around in an overly-exaggerated manner. He could see his sister trying to both calm the man and willing herself not to burst into laughter.

He could see all of this but, in his mind, the only thing that mattered were the deep blue pools - the beautiful yet terrible orbs that where his eyes.

He was sure he had forgotten how to breathe but he did not care. He had finally found him.

Merlin.


End file.
